A dance critic at the opera: Move it, singers!
Remember the old days, when Cadillac-sized opera singers planted their feet among the scenery and belted beautiful music with no thought to the dramatic possibilities of the opera? Art Scatter’s senior correspondent Martha Ullman West does, and she shudders at the memory. What’s more, she sees the old style’s residual effects in the staging of “Orphee” at Portland Opera. Her message: Pay attention to the dancemakers. They have lessons for the musical stage.
Philip Cutlip as Orphee and Lisa Saffer as La Princesse. photo: Cory Weaver/Portland Opera
First the disclaimer — my opera expertise is limited, although my opera attendance began when I was 10 when my father took me to a New York City Opera production of The Marriage of Figaro. I really got the bug when I was in college, and for the past 35 years or so I’ve been an off and on subscriber to the Portland Opera.
So I belong to a generation of opera-goers that has seen a paradigmatic shift in staging: Gone, mostly, are the days when Licia Albanese, say, as the tragic Butterfly, planted her feet, opened her mouth and sang (in heavenly fashion, I might add) her concluding aria; or Pavarotti, as the lascivious duke in Rigoletto, did the same. Today, opera singers have to be able to move. Body language is part of the art form.
And in a Philip Glass opera, they ought to be able to move a lot more dynamically than they were directed to do in Orphee, which I saw Sunday afternoon. In all other respects I thought Portland Opera’s production was stunning, from the score, to the conducting, to the set, to the singing, particularly by Philip Cutlip as Orphee, Georgia Jarman as Eurydice and Lisa Saffer as the Princess.
BUT, my esteemed colleague David Stabler complained in The Oregonian that the production was static, and he’s right. Only Cutlip and Jarman seemed really physically at ease onstage, moving naturally, and with a certain amount of impulse. Saffer did indeed prowl from time to time, but that’s all she did, except to smoke, and everyone else moved stiffly and self-consciously, when they moved at all, except for a bit of leaping on and off of sofas and the bar in the party scene.
I couldn’t help thinking how different it would have looked if it had been directed by Jerry Mouawad in the way he staged No Exit for Imago. In fact, speaking of French poets, are we in Portland this fall enjoying a Season in Hell? (That’s Rimbaud’s long poem, and come to think of it, it would make a dandy opera.)
Glass deserves better physical direction for his operas. He has collaborated with a lot of choreographers. In fact, the first review I did for Dance Magazine, in 1979 (an essay review on post-modern dance in New York) included the premiere of DANCE, a piece he did with Lucinda Childs, which included elegant film images and for which he performed accompaniment himself.
His collaboration with Twyla Tharp for In the Upper Room is better-known, in part because it was for American Ballet Theater. And, yes, admittedly my field of expertise does make me want to see movement on the stage.
Or above it! Trisha Brown directed and choreographed a production of Monteverdi’s Orfeo some years ago, which alas I’ve seen only on film, but she created some spectacular aerial movement for the dancers in her company, which were blended with the singers onstage.
We’ve seen another example of that blending in Portland Opera’s collaboration with dancemakers Jamey Hampton and Ashley Roland of BodyVox on Carmina Burana, a concept the two have taken to other opera companies as well.
Mark Morris recently did an Orpheus and Eurydice, to Gluck’s glorious music, at the Met. It was not much more a critical success than the one Balanchine did in 1936 to the same score (a score whose melodies are so beautiful that Glass pays homage with a short passage toward the end of Act One). Balanchine outraged the music critics, the stuffy Metropolitan audience, and the management by putting the singers in the pit, and including modernistic decor that reminded people of barbed wire. He did a second Orpheus ballet, in 1946, to Stravinsky’s score, with decor by Isamu Noguchi for Ballet Society. That was so successful it got residency at City Center for what became New York City Ballet. It has a terrifying ending in which the Bacchantes seize Orpheus and tear him to pieces.
In Jean Cocteau’s scenario for Glass’s Orphee, the Bacchantes could be characterized as a monstrous regiment of women; in fact, women generally are the villains of this piece. The Princess in her guise as patroness of the arts is viewed as destructive of the creative process; she then becomes the angel of death. Eurydice, pregnant, keeps Orphee from working, although the popular success that he has will surely support the family.
Popular success, however, isn’t what he wants. He wants applause from the intelligentsia at the opening party. That party wasn’t much fun — Hell just might be a French literary cocktail party — though the music was cheerful. The most amusing scene in this opera is the return of the couple from Hades to their apartment and the attempt to keep Orphee from looking at Eurydice’s face. That attempt fails, of course, and back across the River Styx they go.
And then it all turns out to have been a cauchemar, a nightmare, and there it ends, with Orphee and Eurydice locked in a marriage that Cocteau views as a kind of death.
While my irritation with Cocteau’s misogyny is profound, I think this opera is brilliant and Portland Opera performs it very well indeed. Mattaliano is to be congratulated for his boldness in presenting it, but I wish he’d either directed it himself or hired a choreographer to do it, for a lot of movement possibilities are inherent in the work. I hope to see more contemporary operas here. I dream of John Adams’ Doctor Atomic, which I saw only half of at the Met last year.
November 12th, 2009 at 10:54 pm
Mr. Scatter, yes, stunning and haunting. Having just seen Orphee, I’m still mesmerized with the music and the singing. I may try some gloves tonight to see if I can move across in the Underworld. I forgive the choreography or lack of same. The other beautiful part of tonight’s production was the audience. So many people under 35 were out there sitting and responding to tonight’s performance. That’s a good thing for the future of opera in general and the Portland Opera in particular. A wonderful night – now I need to find those gloves. … LaValle
November 13th, 2009 at 1:53 pm
Martha! Nice to see a dyed-in-the-wool dance expert taking an ax to the opera beat.
But you choose the wrong production about which to complain regarding the stage direction and movement. Sam Helfrich - who’s that?? Oh yeah, he’s the stage director you fail to credit in your write-up of the production - has brought highly controlled, minimalist movement and staging to this ORPHEE, which matches perfectly with Glass’ music.
If Helfrich had asked his singers to move more “dynamically” as you suggest (but what does that even mean?), it risked disrupting the tighly wound core of Glass’ opera, and a dark and disturbing psychological sci-fi work could have been exploded to unrecognizable proportions. Glass is not Monteverdi, and he’s not Gluck.
Mattaliano’s “boldness in presenting” ORPHEE was not in choosing the opera itself, but in choosing the *production* to present in Portland. Don’t forget: this opera company, like many of its peers on the regional opera scene, imports productions from other companies much more frequently than it originates new productions. So it’s doubtful Mattaliano would have ever choosen ORPHEE for an original production here (his company wouldn’t likely be able to afford creating a new production of the work!).
But he was, by his own account, so taken with Helfrich’s production of the opera for Glimmerglass in 2007 that he wanted to bring it to Portland. This was not a Portland Opera production: it originated elsewhere, and Mattaliano brought it here. He brought it here because this specific production is a rare and beautiful thing.
Also, were you referring to John Adams’ new opera “Doctor Atomic” when you referenced “Robert Wilson’s ‘Dr. Atomica’” in your last paragraph?
Nice to see you up at bat!
November 14th, 2009 at 10:44 am
Much as I admire Martha’s writing on dance, I’m glad to see Stephen chime in on this issue. I found the staging exactly right for this music and this story (I was also wondering about the Dr. Atomica reference.)
I think emotion in a Glass work (or one by John Adams or any minimalist composer) has to take a different course than something by a romantic composer. There has to be an underlying reason for the somewhat distant musical style. For me, it worked, though I can certainly understand someone having a different opinion. And I’m not even sure why it worked. The combination of the music, Cocteau’s take on the old legend, and the staging made this a surreal opera — maybe the first such I’ve ever seen. There was a dreamlike quality to the whole thing. It’s impressionistic, non-linear — I gave up trying to “rationalize” the narrative, which was tough to follow at times, and just let the experience wash over me. Like a dream that makes sense when you dream it, but doesn’t when you try to describe it the next morning.
I get some of the same feeling when I watch Becket: Can’t figure out why the stuff works — it shouldn’t really, because it seems to break so many rules of received wisdom concerning “the drama.” But it does, powerfully. Or, in some cases, for some people, not.
I question how a more dynamic staging would work, though I admit, it might be fun to see the singers try to adjust to a teeter-totter stage instead of simply a raked one. Seriously, Mouawad’s set and staging helped him achieve his vision of the Hell in “No Exit,” just as Helfrich’s helped him achieve his in Orphee. Both are valid, even though (or perhaps because?) they appear to break some rules.
One thing that was clear, at least to me, is that the end didn’t reveal the whole thing to be a dream, but a kind of cosmic do-over. In this new attempt to “get things right,” Orphee still goes off to his office to work, but his attitude toward Eurydice as he goes is far more generous and loving than it was earlier. Perhaps he’s no longer so much in love with Death? That might improve his marriage, but, we might ask, how will it affect his art?
November 14th, 2009 at 10:51 am
LaValle, how did the gloves work? Yes, you’re so right: The mix of young and old in the audience was terrific.
And Stephen, welcome to the fray. (In case other readers don’t know: Mr. Beaudoin was the adapter and director of Opera Theatre Oregon’s recent updated version of John Gay’s “The Beggar’s Opera.”) You raise some fascinating points. I’m going to stay out of this one, but the territory between Martha’s and Stephen’s viewpoints is pretty interesting. Anyone else want to jump in on this?
Also, thanks, Stephen, for pointing out the slip on “Dr. Atomic,” which I’m fixing in the post (which originally referred to “Robert Wilson’s ‘Dr. Atomica’”). Mr. Editor should have caught that one. An intriguing jumble of facts: Robert Wilson, the famed avant garde theater director, is linked firmly with Philip Glass; he directed Glass’s opera “Einstein on the Beach.” ANOTHER Robert Wilson is a character in John Adams’ opera “Doctor Atomic”: He was a nuclear physicist in the Manhattan Project and also, intriguingly, was known as a sculptor and architect: a fascinating American figure whose story was on Adams’ and librettist Peter Sellars’ minds when they created “Doctor Atomic” (Robert Oppenheimer is the opera’s central figure). And Adams is, of course, John Adams, a guy who embraces the musical possibilities of important historical moments: He’s also the composer of “Nixon in China” and “The Death of Klinghofer.”
Meanwhile, about movement on the opera stage and how it works or doesn’t work with the music: Send those arguments flying, folks. Hit that comment button!
November 14th, 2009 at 10:58 am
… and George, thanks for anticipating my invitation! You filed your comment as I was typing mine. Keep ‘em rolling!
November 14th, 2009 at 11:13 am
Since we’ve cleared up the Dr. Atomic question, readers may be interested to know that the Met production was telecast some months ago over PBS. We were clever enough to set our DVD recorder correctly and therefore have a record of this stunning (if somewhat static–sorry, Martha) production. I see that it’s now available on DVD, though probably not at Blockbuster.
November 14th, 2009 at 11:54 am
I really thought the movement — steady, plodding, even — worked beautifully with Glass’ score which felt to me a somewhat relentless moving forward. Can’t explain those parts where people walked backward, though!
November 14th, 2009 at 4:04 pm
By the way, Mr. Scatter, when you took your pre-performance tour of the set, did your tour guide say anything about the “portrait of the artist as a (live?) man” that hangs stage left (and shows up in the image illustrating this article)? It’s obviously meant to suggest the work of Chuck Close, who, as the NYTimes has noted, “has painted, drawn or made prints of the composer Philip Glass so many times that even he has lost count.” (http://www.robintroy.com/nyt/glass.htm) I thought that to be a delightful touch, if perhaps a bit inside-jokish.
November 15th, 2009 at 1:04 pm
Good eye, George. Yes, that big portrait (it’s of Philip Cutlip, the singer who plays Orphee) is, indeed, meant to look like a Chuck Close. A very nice touch. Overall, I liked the design a lot, although the storm troopers did throw me a bit — had me thinking George Lucas instead of Jean Cocteau. In Cocteau’s film, Death’s minions are hard-core motorcyclists. Seems that would have fit with the opera’s design. But, a minor point.
November 15th, 2009 at 11:10 pm
Welllll, write in haste, repent at leisure–I apologize for the error re Dr. Atomic (and for those who are interested, I saw half of the Met production live, did not think the direction static in that case, and will stick by my guns on Orphee. I of course should have credited the director, again write in haste, and I do read the program notes, so I’m well aware Mr. Beaudoin that the production came from Glimmerglass and that Chris Mattaliano was very much taken by it, pretty much lock stock and barrel. And perhaps I should clarify–maybe what the singers needed was a movement coach–they simply did not move naturally, they weren’t in their bodies as they say in the world of the dance. I’m a bit bemused by Mr. Beaudoin’s sci-fi label (and my friend the science fiction writer deeply resents that term by the way: SF is the correct term); M. Cocteau was a surrealist and I thought the set and the way it was used was faithful to that point of view. There’s a difference between alienation and aliens. And I do think Christopher Mattaliano was bold to bring this production to Portland and am therefore delighted, thrilled, ecstatic down to my toes that it was a success and brought young people in to the opera. We lost one opera director years ago in part because of his equally stunning Fidelio. And like Mr. Scatter, I think this discussion is cool.
November 17th, 2009 at 7:16 am
Hello, interesting conversation here.
I’m The Princess, and I wanted to say that I have worked with a LOT of directors and choreographers and am quite physically fluent. Also I have something of a background in dance. But the idea of this production was about a constrained, dry kind of movement. It was a real challenge for me, as I usually tend to be very active onstage.
So I’d just like to say I’m sorry if it didn’t work for you, but it had nothing to do with any kind of traditional idea of opera singing, ie Park and Bark. It may well have been that the production didn’t work as well in a much larger space. But please consider that we were asked to be in a different physical world with a specific idea of physical movement which was largely very still and specifically NOT natural. I think you’re making assumptions based on some idea of what opera singers are or are capable of.
November 17th, 2009 at 9:04 am
Lisa, I’m delighted you chimed in here. What didn’t come across in my initial post is that I am unspeakably grateful that the “park and bark” (nice phrase that) are over, and perhaps I shouldn’t in the first place have used that history to frame my comments, because I certainly didn’t think any of you did that! I see what the director was after, but I still believe there should have been a physical differentiation between the movement in the two worlds. Moreover, I think it would have been lovely if he’d thought of some other kind of “business” besides impatiently leafing through magazines! In any case, I thought all the leads were fabulous in the voice department and I’m very glad you’ve illuminated this discussion further. Thank you so much.
November 17th, 2009 at 9:12 am
Hello Lisa, thanks for joining the conversation. I agree, this opera and drama are specifically NOT about naturalism. (And by the way, I love the phrase “Park and Bark” — and I love that it’s becoming more and more rare on the opera stage.)
I promised I was going to stay out of this discussion and just be moderator, but I’m going to dip my toes in just a bit.
First: Yes, Keller Auditorium is a challenge. Not only is it a 3,000 seat hall, it’s also a fairly distancing 3,000 seat hall. Hardly anything that’s presented there wouldn’t work better in a more intimate space. From my seat fairly far back in the orchestra level, though, the staging was working well. The sound was a little overbalanced to the orchestra for the first few minutes, but that resolved.
In terms of movement, Sam Helfrich’s staging seemed to me to be going for the dreamlike quality that is in both the music and the Cocteau film. So I expected and appreciated the sort of out-of-body aspect of the movement, which implied that something hyperreal was going on. It’s not exactly that the characters float through space, it’s more that they’ve entered a reality in which the ordinary rules of time and space have been suspended. That’s part of Cocteau’s magic, which I think both Glass’s music and this production have done a remarkable job, not of replicating, but of paralleling in a new aesthetic language. If there was a part of the movement that didn’t work for me, it was in the transitions between the “ordinary” world and the “other” world, which from an audience point of view seemed abrupt and underplayed — there was a lag time between the shift in the narrative and the audience’s realization that the narrative had shifted. I’m not going to take a stab at how that might be changed — I saw the production only once — but I will suggest that some sort of fine-tuning might be called for here. This wasn’t a major problem for me, though: Overall, I think this was a superb production of an opera I’m very glad is finally finding the audience it deserves.
November 17th, 2009 at 10:31 am
No of course it’s not about naturalism, which can sink into bathos pretty rapidly on the opera stage, but it is about what the post-modern choreographers (the ones Glass has been working with but not for a while) call pedestrian movement. This is a very subtle point, and both Bob and Lisa are completely correct about Keller Auditorium, whose resemblance to an airplane hangar I make a point of mentioning at least once a season. I must say, I thought the movement direction was a MINOR flaw in this superb rendition of a really wonderful opera, but I’m very glad it touched off a quite fascinating discussion. Thank you all!
November 23rd, 2009 at 3:04 pm
it is rare that i respond.
i appreciated the opera.
the sets, lighting, some of the costumes, could have done without what seems to be required “Stocking Caps” for hipsters. voices were mostly wonderful. to be minimal can be a difficult thing to pull off. mostly it worked? what i saw were many people who are NOT comfortable in their bodies. exception being the lead male. simple gestural choreography that looked clunky and not at ease. transitions could have been more seamless. stylized staging with non-movers sometimes works if they have a better sense of their own weight, stature, bones and breath.
i did enjoy much of the production.